Sup3rnality

And again I think we've dropped it along the way. Or maybe we didn't. Maybe we dragged it along with us, heavy in our hands that it tore open and spilled out whatever was left inside. And all we have now is the handles in our hands and nothing to hold up. Nothing. Or are the handles still something?

Who's to say? I may not know how to sew. Well, not well enough to hold the weight for long, that is. Maybe for a little while I can. But if this gets too heavy again, we'll find them scattered all over the floor. We should learn to patch it up. Learn to sew things together and make it hold a little stronger. May not be the same, but I guess that don't matter. At least we've learned how to sew. At least we know how heavy this can be and we'd know how to mend it.

I ain't complaining. We can leave this here and not look at it again. But that's just it. Can we leave it be and not turn around and decide to just take it and keep it? I for one am always sentimental, holding on to things that have long lost its life just for its sentimental value. So can we really let this lie here forgotten? Lying in the dust, among the fallen leaves? No one will ever find it and
that's how it would stay.

Knowing me, I'll never. Too weak, too sentimental, too.... I don't know. But that's how it is for me. I'd keep it. I'd keep my side of the handle. You can leave yours, but I'll hold mine. It's important for me to have a piece of something of I've owned. I need to have a memory of it kept close and dear. Reminds me that my mind is not as screwed up as I thought it was....

So, here's to this heavy luggage. I can't hold it up, it's too heavy. But I'm proud of it, won't change it for anything. Do you want yours? Can you sew?

Yours, Lin~

It's all about timing. The counting of space of time from one step to the other. Determining the time to strike, seizing the moment. Carpe diem. Carpe noctem. Crap.

There is no time. No such thing. Time is a false god that has you watching the clock for a miracle to happen when all that is happening is your watching your life passing you by. It does not grant you the wisdom. There is nothing to know about from the ticking of the seconds. There is nothing in the calculation of the slow passing of time. All there is, is the now of the moment.

Counting the seconds between the sounds of thunder. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand... And you can keep on counting. But it's for certain that that thunder will keep on coming. The time between them counts for nothing. Seize the time in between. There is only the now. Take it.

And then I think, we are of course, only human. If not, then, playing a charade, a masquerade that requires a human visage even if you doubt it in yourself. And we play these games, looking every so often in the direction of the clock hanging high above. Afraid of it striking 12, finding that weakening significance in those two digits in time. It has a meaning. It makes us count the hours. It makes us fear time, waiting for it. Waiting on it.

We wait for that precious second in time. That one-second window that for an instant gives you a chance to act. And there is no time to think of the consequences; all there is time for is the action itself. But we, being human, hesitate. And we find that window closing itself shut. Gone is that space in time when all else gives way to you to act upon that wish.

And can we blame ourselves? We are human anyway. How could we be anything else when we are still cowardly even in the face of that long awaited moment? Time still conquers us when it holds power over us, making us wait on it instead of our acting regardless of it. And what is more? We cannot even find that piece of strength we need to seize the moment of moments. Even the Cowardly Lion had the will to find courage.

So in dreams we find ourselves doing the things that should have been done. Dreaming out the maybes and should-have-beens. But in dreams, time is irrelevant. The passing of time could be seconds in what must have felt like hours, or the other way around. In the absence of that oh so powerful time, anything happens. But even then, things might not just be the way you want it.

So this is how it is. It is all about timing. Seize the day. Seize the night. Seize the gorram moment.

You may not have that much time left. But bloody hell. You see, I'm still human.

Love, Lin~

And sometimes I think it is all for naught. And deep down I know that falling could be a possibility, so I might as well stand at the edge. You can either pull me back, or you can just finish the job and push me over. Do what you see fit. I am constantly putting one foot out the door anyway.

But there are times when I reel myself back in. Seems like there's a pull somewhere in the depths. I can't see it, hell, it's murky this mess we're in. But I could swear I felt it. Or maybe that's just me wishing that it was.

I cast my eyes downwards most of the time. Too scared to look up. Scared of a truth I might not want to see glaring at me. Scared of a flicker that might be the beginning of something stronger than What I know. This is me. It's always been this way. Maybe always will.

Maybe I'll keep on running. Peer into the distance and see the road stretching way beyond and decide to run. See how far my feet could take me. Maybe stop every now and then to enjoy the view, maybe turn around and see if not far behind I see... well, see if the school bus I was outrunning is still behind me. Heck, inside it are the things that make me feel small like a child.

But I can also sit down and rest my feet and transit on to the next bus travelling on. And I can't make up my mind. I still have one foot out the door.

Convince me. Convince me this way. Or convince me the other way. Guessing games are getting a bit old. Let me know.

Pull me down. I'll let it pull me down. Sink or swim, I don't know and I don't care. We'll see.

I'm still a boat without a paddle. If you still have another place on your boat, then maybe we both can row.

Yours, Lin~

"Is there a love
Lost and found
Make it easy
Make it easy
It's not as heavy as it seems
Wrapped in metal
Wrapped in ivy
Paint it in mint ice-cream"
- Tori Amos

That's what we call ourselves at the top of our voices, eventhough in voices low, we don't even have a name. It's easier to pretend when all there is is the weight of nothing of something that once were. Maybe we dropped it on the way here.

Or maybe, we're sitting down a while to wait for the strength again to pick it up and carry it forth again. But it's not as heavy as it seems. I don't remember it being heavy.

Although, I admit, we've picked up extra baggage along the way. Some pieces here and there that contribute to this burden we have. Not that I mind all that much; this thing between us feels more like experience than regret.

People are looking to me and this thing I'm carrying and they want to know. And I? Well, I can't even figure out the combination lock to open this. I don't even know what's in this to begin with. But there they are around me, in their hands they too carry something. They are carrying an old tattered basket, on the handle of it a ribbon so white it must be new, and a borrowed copy of Buffy Season 4 Disc 3 inside it. They offer it up as they walk with me and then eventually pass me by. I don't know whether I want it yet.

And it's funny that they turn to me knowing, when really I don't. I don't know. Make this easy. Make this easy. I thought I felt that something when there was that moment in a moment. Dark, sweet, spark. I swore there was. Make it easy.

This is all it is. Whatever we have hanging in the balance. I can't see beyond, and I don't want to look too far back. I want to see what it is here and now. That is, if there is anything to see.
If not, well, then lets just paint it mint ice-cream.

Yours, Lin~

I don't usually hate. I'd dislike, yes, but it is very rare that I hate. Of course, this is not counting vile people whom you read of in the papers. Those people do not even warrant the moment of contemplation of where they stand. They're a waste of space, a waste of even the slightest of a thought.

But I'm not talking about these people. I need not waste my time talking about such non-persons. I'm here to talk about other sorts of people.

Like I said, I don't usually hate. Hate to me is a very strong emotion that is brought about in me by anger that I feel towards someone. And this anger itself is brought out in me when a person I come into contact with shows no sense of respect towards who you are and therefore assumes superiority and treats you as if you were insignificant little people. I HATE these people. There is nothing left to feel and say but hate.

It is not in my nature to hate. Well, I don't let myself hate, anyway. I'm peaceable enough if you give me my due respect and treat me like a person. I'm not saying we have to be the best of buddies or you have to grovel at my feet, but I'm saying is that, I'm a person with my own rights and should be treated so. But if you do otherwise, then I'll do the same and not feel any need to think of you as a person.

In the past month, I've come to know another person that I am starting to feel intense hatred for. I'm not going to mention his name. so hopefully the fact that I said I've come to know him within this past month and the fact he's a 'he', will give you enough clues.

My anger towards him could not even put into words. The thought of the things he says to you and how he regards you sets me seething with anger. He talks to you calmly with a smile on his face like a friendly person, but the sugarcoated words hide sarcastic, poisonous words that he assumes you would not get or understand because of your stupidity. He would give you so-called fatherly advice that belies his insinuating rancourous remarks. In other words, he's trying to tell you all that you all are a bunch of good-for-nothing louts who will mature to be a waste of time and money, useless people. And if you have enough dumb luck, you'll live a good enough life to support your useless existence. And he says all this every time we see him.

I'm not sure if others see this and just choose to stay mum about it all. Because I see them laugh at his jokes that not at all funny as it seems on the surface. Maybe they do, maybe they don't, I can't really say. But if they do, I hope they don't have this hatred living in them like the one I have. It's a disease I can't be rid off, and it only serves to make me hate him more.

He has authority over us. I get that. I don't altogether hate authority, as long as that authority is not abused. I recognize some authority and certain superiority because I know that I do not know everything and must seek answers from those of the more experienced. But when those of authority rub the fact that you are lesser than them in your face, I have not an ounce of respect for them left. And this is how I feel about him.

I can sit here writing this and sound extremely calm. But if I were to really express how I feel, I reckon they'd bleep every other word coming out of my mouth. I don't mean to be so angry, really. It's not so in my nature to be all hateful. But sometimes I just get pushed to my limit.

Lin~

It's been a year, love. It's been a long, long year. Such a gaping wide space of time in which you were not in. Your absence have left me so empty; and it's been so hard for me to fill that void.

At times I feel so ashamed, letting myself be in the mess I'm in. Sometimes I so alone, even in a crowd full of people. At times I hate the eyes on me, hate the discomfort. And everyday, at the end of the day, like those days when you were there, I seek that refuge that cancels out every trace of displacement I feel in myself. But you're no longer there. I can no longer find myself in the arms of the comfort that you offered up to me without discrimination, without judgment. And it pains me.

My words have been swallowed up since you were gone. I find myself unable to express myself with the words that are there in my head. Everything seems irrelevant. Feelings became irrelevant. What use were there if all I could use them for sadness and then not have any comfort afterwards? I was mute for so long. I am still mute.

I miss you so much. I have so much emptiness in me. I am so weak. I never thought things could be this way. Always thought that many years from then you would still be by my side, ever constant, stalwart. My comfort.

I swear I could not find the words. These words hold no weight to ever say how life has been without you. How much I miss you. How much I love you. There are no words, and no words can possibly be created.

I love you. I think of you all the time. I hear you, I dream of you and nothing can ever ease the pain of losing you. No amount of tears can ever bring you back. And it makes me ache so so much.

I am sorry for not being there. I am sorry that you were alone when you left. I am sorry I could not protect you. I am so sorry I could not take away your pain. I am sorry for your stolen years.
I'm sorry for the million of things I could have done differently. I'm sorry that you're so cold now. I'm sorry that these words will never do anything, and they'll just remain words.
I miss you. And I'll always love you. I hope you're happy where you are.

Love you always, Lin~

Thoughts. Thoughts are all I ever have. Thoughts are what that rule my life. Day in, day out. They never leave me. Even in my dreams, I have thoughts in my own dream. I think in my dream. They occupy the every stretch of time in a moment of my existence. Thoughts are what I'm made of.

I think of everything. The past. The present. The future. The never-will-bes. The maybes. The could-have-beens. The possibility of everything. Alternities and reality. They bleed together; rivers that would have never met if not for the sea. And my mind is the sea where everything converges and become a raging abyss that I would never fully fathom its depths.

It's all here in my head. A living entity that works even without my express permission. They fly by. They pop out at odd hours. They come at me full force. They drive me on. They drive me insane. They whisper softly. They carress tenderly. They spark full of inspiration. I cannot possibly pick one thought from the din.

I am what I think. And in turn, my thoughts are me. I exist because of them and they exist for me. My thinking helps siphon my every concentrated thoughts into digestable spoonfuls, keeping me sane. And yet, they make me insane at times.

They are bittersweet. I hate them. I love them. They make me weep. They make me weak. They remind me of good times. Prolonged dwellings break me. I need them. I need to break free. I need to run. I need them with me. I laugh. I cry. I smile. It makes my heart ache. And they are a thousand and one things more if I had the time to think.

To think.

As if I need more time. They are constantly in my head. All the time. With no regards at the moments passing by.

All I'll ever be will be my thoughts. What they think I should do. what they rationalize. The solutions they cook up. The words I say. The things I do. Everything. They'll never change. My thoughts are me, and I am them.

Love, Lin~